The Ides of May
by Lily McIntire
Summary: Different blurbs from Castle, all leading up to the final events of "Knockout". If you haven't seen it, don't read! If you have seen 3.24 at least once, I highly suggest you do! R&R!


The Ides of May

A/N: This is generally about Castle, and the way he soaks it all in from Montgomery. If you haven't seen the finale, don't read on! Some of the details are improvised, though based on whatever information the episode gave. I wrote this the morning following the finale, in my English class while I did not pay attention to whatever we were doing. I was seriously dragged on how the finale went. My heart was sad. So this might be a bit…reflective, of that.

Disclaimer: If I was affiliated with ABC's Castle in any way, why would I write fics about it? Silly.

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><p>He hadn't understood- <em>"I cannot make Beckett stand down. I never could. And I figure the only one who can, is you."<em> What did that mean? Roy was her captain. Rick was her…shadow. He couldn't stop her. …Could he?

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><p>It was a phone call he'd never forget. Twenty-four calls she had ignored, and when his phone finally rang and his hopeful patience had been restored, it was Roy Montgomery's name that flashed on the screen of his Focus. It was unusual. Probably to tell him he was officially out of his shadowing job.<p>

"Captain." There was no need for inventive greetings.

"Castle." Roy mirrored the gesture.

"Something I can help you with?" Castle had to admit that he didn't really know the context of this phone call. Beckett might have done more than demand his removal- she could have been shot. Killed. Gone. He reached down to find the arm of his chaise sofa, sitting leniently on it, braced.

"They're going after her," he paused. "I need you to come to the hangar where we found the helicopter."

Castle drew a slow breath, heartbeat calming. "What can I do? I'm just the school's funniest kid. And it's not enough." His wound was still raw.

"Rick." The captain meant no shit. "She's not going to step down. No matter what happens, _make her_."

"I don-"

"She's pushing you away, she's pushing everyone away. She's stubborn. But she's too brilliant to let walk a suicide mission. No matter what happens, you will do as I say. Get her out."

For several swollen seconds, Castle was silent.

"Understood."

"It's a direct order, Rick. Meet me in two hours."

"Captain."

"It's a direct order. I know you're no cop, but you sure as hell think like one. The chain of command means something. It's about more than training, and overseeing, it's about protecting. It's about keeping your poker face."

"Two hours."

"Two hours."

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><p>He knew what he was allowing. He understood how miserably this would end, if things worked out, well.<p>

Beckett couldn't beat this one, but that only drove her farther and farther away. So far, that her team was in the way of danger, with her. So far, that the elastic wouldn't unstretch. Too far.

Roy Montgomery had held his cards closer to his vest than she did. He was the one with the game-changer. This was his reconciliation. This was his penance. This was his stand. Castle owed him the right to this peace.

As he waited underneath a shadow, he watched her enter the hangar.

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><p>It felt wrong. The touch of her arm, his plea with her, she ignored them both. She wasn't listening. Had he once thought she would? That's why he was here. To dare to cross her, stand in her way. Because he was the only one who could. Even if he had to drag her.<p>

Even if it cost him, her.

Roy ignored Kate's willful decline, and took his attention. Bits of scattered recollection reminded him of their agreement. This wasn't about feelings. This wasn't about what felt wrong; it was about doing something right.

"_Get her out."_

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><p>His arms clasped her so strongly. He ran. If they so much as caught a whiff of her…he preferred not to venture. Everything that had been stretched by her willpower in determination was snapping- including herself. She cried, and thrashed, and collapsed in such a way that might strangle the universe. She had to be quiet, she had to. His hand muffled her moans. He had to quiet her.<p>

He leaned her against his car, her body unaware. If he hadn't held her up, she would have slipped to the ground in a puddle. Her tears, her anguish, her entire state propelled him to whisper consoling arguments to her, smooth back her hair, caress her as if their relationship hadn't been left in shambles.

As the gunshots fired, he could only pray on God's saving grace that Montgomery had hit them all. You see, the thing about gunshots, is that they all sound the same. He thought that nothing could be worse than listening to the fire between foe and friend.

The silence was worse.

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><p>He held Kate where she was, as afraid to let her go as she was of embracing him.<p>

Another shot. His reserve thinned.

She broke free: running.

The blackness of the night hid her. It kept him from her. It protected her.

He couldn't explain why he remained by the car, alone. Perhaps the settling sense of dust, knowing, without seeing, that it was over, paralleled him.

His palms held him at an arm's length from the vehicle, head bowed, eyes slipping shut in reverence. He knew.

Her misery echoed.

* * *

><p>Almost losing her had cost him so many words. He was nearly as broken as she, and yet, not. She was alive, his muse, his energy, his detective. Compared to where he'd be if she were the one in the casket he helped bear the weight of with one hand, this was euphoric harmony. He'd dodged a bullet, and she'd dodged three. He was the luckiest man in New York, he was quite sure.<p>

As it must go, he watched her strong front cascade around her audience as she delivered the eulogy. He hung on every flick of her tongue. He stood a few yards away, but not one of the crowd. He was like her Secret Service.

She looked to him, once. Someone who will stand with you- oh, that was him! Her look wasn't "over", as she'd determined they were. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he hoped- been doing entirely too much of that, lately. He needed something more than hope, he needed her. Maybe her look said she needed him, too.

That's when the sparkle of movement caught his eyes- a moment of confusion, recognition, and because he was no cop, just able to think like one, a second too late, action. He heard his voice rise above the coulds; he felt his feet crush the ground, as he tunneled for her.

They fell.

Time ceased to exist. In a wind of fury, two words broke the undisturbed surface of Castle's iron demeanor.

"Beckett's down!"

Through that crack slipped the luck with which he'd been so blessed.

Without waste, the nightmare he'd been living for the past few days struck him, full force. It ripped at his chest hungrily, craving the vital organ inside. His mind raced with his pulse, which was being suffocated by the Devil himself. Slack of all senses, he zeroed in on absolutely nothing but her emptying face, her life, giving her some of his through tender strokes of her cheek with his fingers.

She said nothing – perhaps she couldn't.

So he did.


End file.
